Sayyidd smiled broadly at his partner.
“We can be there in a day or less.”
43
We’d been driving for close to an hour before Jennifer asked where we were going.
“We’re headed to Belize. I’m going to a place called Puerto Barrios on the eastern edge of Guatemala. From there, we’ll take a ferry to a town called Punta Gorda.”
“What’re we going to do there? Maybe we should just fly out from here.”
“Maybe, but I’ve been to Belize a few times, so I know it better than this place. I don’t want to be in this country when the word gets out about what I did. I’m sure a lot of people lost their livelihood tonight.”
Jennifer leaned over and placed her hand on my arm.
“Hey, I never thanked you for saving my life. I’m sorry that I caused this mess, but I’m glad you were here.” She smiled.
I felt an enormous wash of shame at what I had planned earlier. What was I going to say to that?
“Look, I’d like to say I came to help you because I’m a nice guy, but I’m not. You were rescued by the memory of a dead woman. I’m not a hero. I thought I was one once, but that stupid fairy tale was killed nine months ago.”
We sat in silence for a moment. An incredibly uncomfortable silence. I wished I hadn’t opened my mouth.
“You can’t expect me to sit here with that answer. What do you mean? Why’d you come back for me?”
I sighed, debating whether to continue. I decided to get it all out. “Nine months ago I was in a special unit in the military. I had been deployed at war since 9/11. My wife had borne the brunt of the deployments. While I was off doing exactly what I wanted, she had to stay home and pay the bills and raise our daughter. She asked me to quit, to not go on my next deployment, but I pulled on her patriotic heartstrings, giving her a pack of lies about how I was needed to save America. She let me go. A month into it, my wife and child were beaten to death by some sorry son of a bitch looking to rob a house.”
I stopped, lost in thought, unsure of why I was talking about this. Jennifer said nothing. Eventually, I continued, feeling a little catharsis.
“Because I wanted to keep doing a bunch of bullshit stuff in the name of the United States, my wife and child were killed. If I’d stayed home they’d be alive. And nobody was making me go. The unit was voluntary. Because of my selfishness, I killed my family. That’s the only reason I came for you. I was reminded of my wife, nothing more. I’m not a good guy.”
Jennifer was shocked by the story. She thought she might be hearing something that hadn’t ever been said aloud. She looked at Pike, gripping the steering wheel like he was trying to choke it to death, and didn’t know how to respond. She knew that what he’d said wasn’t true.
She asked a simple question. “Would you have come for me if your wife was still alive? Would you have attacked that place all by yourself?”
Pike considered the question, reflecting on it for a few moments. “Yes. It’s what I used to do. It’s what I used to be when I believed in a lie. But I’m not that man anymore.”
Jennifer smiled to herself in the darkness. She gave a simple response, not realizing the implications of the words. “Well, I don’t think it was a lie. Welcome back.”
I’m sure she made the comment simply to break away from the awkward conversation, but it struck a chord deep inside. Back when I was operational, I had a quote from George Orwell hanging inside my Taskforce locker that defined the essence of what I believed I was:
The death of my family had shattered that illusion, leaving me believing my life was nothing more than an act in a play that others directed. I had turned my back on everything I once held as sacrosanct, convinced that I had been used like a puppet because all of the terrorists I had killed had done nothing to prevent the death of all that I held dear.
Even so, deep in my soul, I desperately wanted to believe again. I wanted to feel the faith of my past, to be what I once was. Jennifer’s comment sliced through the pain, opening up a window, albeit small, to the hope beneath. I liked the feeling.
I glanced over at her and squeezed her hand, choking out two words that meant far more than she could possibly realize. “You’re welcome.”
44
Passing through a small town, really just a collection of huts spanning the highway, I began to look for a vehicle to trade for our Suburban. I needed one that appeared mechanically sound but was old enough to allow me to carjack it without too much trouble. Something built before all the newfangled computers, laser keys, and complicated steering-wheel locks. On the outskirts of the village I saw a Ford Fiesta parked in the yard of a house that looked like it had been made from flattened beer cans. The car itself was at least twenty years old, dented and patched many times, with a coloring consisting of mottled spray paint covering the original finish like a bad rash. I drove past it a hundred meters and pulled over.
“I’m going back to get that car. You get behind the wheel here. When I start it, I’ll pull out and flash you with the headlights. Let me pass you, then pull in behind me. We’ll go about a mile down the road, then pull over and swap cars.”
“Are you sure you can steal it?”
“Yeah. I’ve done it before. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
I pulled out the little Suburban tool kit from the glove box, consisting of a pair of pliers, a small hammer, and both a Phillips and flathead screwdriver. Leaving the car, I fell into a light jog down the darkened highway to the Fiesta.
Using the giant side mirror of the suburban, Jennifer watched Pike approach the vehicle and peer through the driver’s side window. She watched him rear back with the hammer, shielding his face from potential flying glass. Saw him shatter the window, only to be met by an ear-splitting alarm. Saw him running back toward her like a scalded dog.
She jammed the SUV into drive and hit the gas as he jumped in. She threw a rooster tail of dirt, fishtailing back onto the highway, weaving left and right. She started laughing uncontrollably, tears in her eyes, fighting to stay on the road.
Pike first looked indignant, moving on to aggravated, and ending with plain angry. “What’re you laughing at? Christ! Watch where the hell you’re going!”
Between hitches of laughter, Jennifer gave a poor impression of Pike’s baritone. “I can rip that car off. Shouldn’t be any trouble.”
Pike shook his head, looking out the window. Jennifer continued to laugh, unable to stop, letting off pent-up emotion. The laughter was genuine but had a little bit of a brittle edge. She finally calmed down enough to look at him. Seeing his annoyance, she tried to mollify him. “Come on. You have to admit that was funny. You looked like a teenager caught in the girlfriend’s bed by her father.”
